


Aftermath

by jalendavi_lady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-07
Updated: 2010-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jalendavi_lady/pseuds/jalendavi_lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The older Slytherin students react to the battle, the changes in their world, and their loss. It contains an alternate interpretation for what Pansy did in Deathly Hallows.</p><p>Warning: This story focuses on the <i>reaction</i> to a death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Young witches and wizards drinking. All are over the age Harry was when he was first canonically given Firewhiskey.

The war was over.

The world felt like it was ending.

The younger free Slytherins had quietly claimed a case of firewhiskey and the silent shadow of Ravenclaw Tower. Their elders were helping clean up the castle and bury the dead, but they had mourning on their minds.

Pansy Parkinson sat on a tree stump, one half-empty bottle at her feet and the shot glass in her hand nearly drained. "I don't know what's worse, knowing we've got a reason to get this drunk, or knowing no one will yell at us for it."

All the alcohol was doing was making her numb, and not nearly enough of that. It would have been just like Aberforth to have tampered with the case, after all. There had been a rather memorable week five years ago when the Slytherin prefects had been slipped a potion designed to cause the drinker to burp semi-permanent pink bubbles in place of two bottles of firewhiskey and it had taken three sleepless nights before Professor...

She sobbed and took another swig.

Theodore Nott raised his own bottle high. "To He-Who-Should-Be-Shaking-His-Fist-At-Us-Right-Now!"

Sobbing laughter from all of them, and raised glasses.

It was odd, to see them all with robe- and shirtsleeves ripped off at the elbows, but it had been the easiest way to prove they weren't Death Eaters as they flew in to reinforce the weary battle-line just before dawn. Their elders had been able to dress appropriately, but the students had not had time. Such things could be mended, or not. Pansy had a feeling short-sleeves-whenever-possible was going to be the Slytherin House dress code for years to come, a lasting sign of defiance.

They'd barely had time to break into the broom shed after walking back to Hogwarts during the lull, and that was with Pansy making sure they were the first House out of the castle.  
"To He-Who-Tried-To-Keep-Us-Safe!" one of the fifth-year prefects added, hoisting an almost-empty bottle.

This could go on for hours, but she didn't want it to end.

She remembered what being a Death Eater had been like for Draco, even if he'd never directly told her that was what he had become. He was there in the castle, and she did not want that confrontation to be soon, to see the look in his eye and know what the past year had been like.

To maybe see his arm, and never have deniability of the truth again.

And then there was the other matter, the matter of the dead still being gathered and the little band that had moved off at the moment of victory...

It wasn't real now, despite the toasts and memories and sobbing.

It would be real with McGonagall in the Head's seat and Slughorn as official _and_ unofficial resident Potions Master.

It would be real when the Heads of House returned from the Shrieking Shack, when the watch began. There was an unstated clear feeling that all of the Free Slytherin youth would be participating at one point or another. He had watched over them for so long that it was only right that they return the care in the only way left to them.

They should be resting or sleeping, recovering from the battle and preparing for their part in the long duty ahead.

They were going to need to do research, to make sure everything was done correctly. Make sure they had found his 17th birthday watch, make sure it was on him when the time came. Make sure his dueling robes were in proper array when it came time to... time to...

She fumbled for the bottle, but she couldn't see it anymore.

Arms around her, and the smell of Nott's robes, made familiar by seven years of Hogwarts trains, common rooms, House tables, and pick-up Quidditch games. "Theo?"

"We're safe now," he whispered huskily. "Safe the way he'd have wanted us to be. And free in a way he could have only dreamt of."

He might have never known there was more than a slight anti-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named thread running through some of his House's students, even when he had been the Head of House keeping them from accidentally killing each other. He might have not realized Nott's dislike for his father was far more than a family spat, or that Pansy's increasing worry was based on a deeper concern than Draco's safety.

He might have thought they were all lost.

She clutched at Nott's robes. "Professor," she sobbed.

How was Hogwarts going to survive losing so many people in one night? How was Slytherin House as a whole going to survive being so ripped apart, divided even within the old families?

How could they go on?

How could they go on without him reminding them whenever they were acting like fools, as he had always been there since her first night at Hogwarts?

Her first night, when she had been weeping in the common room long after her bedtime, only to find herself alone and faced with a barefoot nightshirt-clad head of house calling her a silly girl and telling her that if she didn't get some sleep she would be too tired to appreciate her first day in the castle.

She had gone to bed, and smiled at him when she caught his eye at dinner because he had been right and she had _loved_ her first day at Hogwarts.

Nott tightened his embrace.

Movement across the grounds, and their heads all turned.

Draco was walking towards them, clearly wary - and with reason.

Pansy focused on him through blurry eyes.

He looked miserable.

One of the sixth-years pulled a wand.

"Don't," Nott warned.

"Oh, and why? He's one of them."

"And so was my Dad. And Professor Snape. And how many others who wanted to leave after they learned what it was like in _his_ service. When does it stop? Where do we put the line?"

"Professor was trying to protect him as much as he was trying to protect us," Pansy reminded them.

"It's true," Zabini added. "I heard him arguing with the Carrows about it one night."

A space was made for Draco.

Pansy stopped holding back her tears, resting her head on Nott's shoulder.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and recognized it as Draco's.

Pansy had no clue what the future held, but it was clear Slytherin House would face it together.

(She still really wished Professor Snape would be there to watch them do it, though.)


End file.
